Imagine the worst day of your life. Immerse yourself in the details. How did you feel? Who were you with? What were the consequences?

Recalling my darkest day is as simple as typing a few search terms into a web browser. It only took thirty minutes for me to become the center of a media frenzy that caught the attention of an entire country.

So I hid.

Nine months later and I’m getting better. Moved two hours from home, landed my dream job, and met a delicious new guy.

Healing is that simple, right?

Wrong.

Pressure Point

I know what you’re thinking. It’s unconventional to want a man nine years older than you. It’s inconvenient to crush on your dearest friend’s older brother. It’s silly to pine after a man for six years. It’s cliché to lust after a celebrity. It’s pathetic to fall in love with a man who barely knows you exist.

I know what you’re thinking because I’ve thought it all, too. And yet that hasn’t stopped me from wanting Blake Campbell. Charming, gorgeous, brilliant, kind, selfless – Blake is everything I’ve ever wanted, but he doesn’t see me that way. In fact, he hardly noticed me until one night.

Traumatic events brought us together for the first time, but then he tossed me aside. I know it’s irrational, but I wanted him up until the moment he left me lying there alone.

When his eyes finally open and he finds out I’ve left, will it be too late?

New Point

“New Point isn’t known for much breaking and entering, but I have to admit, this looks mighty suspicious,” an unmistakably Midwestern accent drawls from behind me, effectively scaring the sweat off my bare shoulders.

A shriek escapes from my lips as I teeter preciously on the wood chair and my hands lose their grip on the white doorframe. The rubber of my flip flop doesn’t provide much traction and my body pitches sideways. In just a second I’ll crash against the deck floor and I’ll spend the summer recovering physically instead of gaining back my old–

“Probably shouldn’t go sneaking up on someone then,” I mutter once I catch my breath and untangle myself from his grasp. He chuckles at my retort, a rich baritone that makes me feel like shivering.

When I’m a step or two back I’m nearly breathless again, but this time for completely different reasons.

Sturdy was one way to describe his muscular grasp, but now that I have a full frontal view of him, I see my mistake. He’s perfect. Thick arms with nicely defined muscles that don’t bulge too aggressively beneath his white T-shirt, a broad chest, trim waist with low riding blue exercise shorts. And that’s just his body. Bright white teeth gleam at me from behind a broad smile. Thick, dark curly hair begs to have fingers run through it and he has coffee colored eyes framed by long lashes most girls want desperately.

He’s a combination of sultry sex appeal and mischievous intentions as displayed by the twist of his lips. Less than one minute in his presence and I’m practically swooning.

“Who are you?” I blurt out.

With a smirk, he crosses his arms across the planes of chest. “Shouldn’t I be asking the questions, Ms. Breaking and Entering?”

Pressure Point

They say life is about choices. You spend your life making decisions and dealing with the consequences, whether they are positive or negative. In my tumultuous frame of mind, I make a choice. A very poorly thought out choice, but one that I have to live with, nevertheless.

As soon as Cassidy finishes her encore, I tell the girls that we’re going backstage to meet the singer. They follow behind the private elevator to the lower level of the Chi Center, talking giddily. I push their voices out of my mind, leading them with long, purposeful strides.

There are perks to owning the joint. The security guards clear the way for me, knowing not to bother me when I’m in a foul mood.
With a short knock, I push my way into Cassidy’s crowded backstage room. The moment she lays her fake-eyelash covered gaze on me, she squeals. The sound hurts my ears, but I pretend it doesn’t.

“Blake Campbell, I didn’t know you were coming back here!” She literally launches herself at me, latching her over tanned arms around my neck and thrusting her glitter-speckled tits against my chest.

And then, in plain sight of Stella, I yank the pop star into my arms and thrust my tongue down her throat.

You are a moron.

Olivia Luck lives in the middle of America with her loving husband and her obsession with writing. She wrote her first romance novel at age eight. When she’s not reading, editing, or writing, you can find her in the kitchen learning to cook. Olivia loves to travel and spend time with her family.

Get in touch with Olivia, she adores emails: olivialuckauthor@gmail.com

Olivia Luck lives in the middle of America with her loving husband and her obsession with writing. She wrote her first romance novel at age eight. When she’s not reading, editing, or writing, you can find her in the kitchen learning to cook. Olivia loves to travel and spend time with her family.

Get in touch with Olivia, she adores emails: olivialuckauthor@gmail.com